


Lethal White

by iLovely



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: "good" ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Blood and Violence, Breeding, Dehumanization, Early Sexual Maturation, Elves, Frottage, Implied Underage, M/M, MPreg (mentioned), Magic, Manipulation, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plots of Murder, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Magic, Sexual Slavery, Slurs, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, genital piercings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLovely/pseuds/iLovely
Summary: Every good breeder certainly knows that genetics are an important thing. Perhaps the most important thing. After all, there are certain characteristics which may render offspring nonviable. Traits that prove dangerous to survival if they are allowed to be carried throughout the bloodline.That danger, however, is not always a threat to what is born.
Relationships: Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Characters
Kudos: 13





	1. The Freeze

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not yet finished--it may include additional tags that will be added to reflect events that occur in future chapters. At the beginning of each chapter, a list of appropriate tags will be provided to readers... so that they might have a better idea of what they are getting themselves into. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Cold... So cold.

It's the first thing that the elf is aware of as he wakes, crimson eyes fluttering open weakly. The wind whips at his exposed back, tosses each long and silken strand of his platinum locks. It bites at his fingers, his toes, his cheeks, and he shudders violently as feeling works its way back through his slender body. He rests face down in a drift, the snow dry against his chest and thickly packed around his form. As if to cushion him. To hold him, molded around his form. Tiny flakes rest unmelting on his white lashes, in his pale hair, dusted over his olive skin... they do not respond to his heat. They do not turn to water and dribble away, are seemingly unaffected by the blizzard-like conditions.

Slowly, he curls the fingers of his right hand. They obey, albeit a bit delayed. The flesh is blue under translucent nails, perfectly trimmed... but it does not hurt. Not truly. His palm comes to rest in the drift, and supports him as he rises. His movements are measured, and fatigue washes over him. His body feels weighed down, cold and heavy like marble. Immaculately carved, but painfully difficult to maneuver. He comes to rest almost completely upright, hip pressed into the snow--and just as he does so, the wind vanishes with a whistle, the air falling silent and glittering flakes stopping dead in their places. The white hills go as far as he can see, meeting stormy grey clouds on the horizon. The only color that stands out among them are sharp, jagged chunks of blue stone, jutting out like claws up into the sky.

Ruins.

He turns his head to survey them, and a tinkling sounds near to his head.

His right hand goes to one pointed, freezing ear, as if in surprise. It twitches, just slightly, under his touch, and the pads of his fingers find several metallic rings along the lobe and shell. Fascinated, he trails his hand down over them, then through the curtain of his soft hair, down his neck and over the opposite shoulder... His fingertips find ice where his bicep should be, then nothing. Slowly, he glances down, and muted horror runs through him as he realizes that his left hand, his left _arm_ is just... gone. The shimmering olive skin is painted over with a dark, dried red substance, and the nub of it is completely covered in fractals. It should hurt. But it doesn't hurt.

How did he get here? What happened to his arm? His heart begins to pound in his throat, his breaths coming quick and turning to vapor in the frigid air. Then, he realizes something more frightening than any of these things...

Who is he?

His mind offers nothing to him. No memories. No names. No places to recall or events to come trickling back. His head is empty and light, and his mouth feels full of cotton. Crimson eyes blink rapidly, a throbbing starting up in his temples.

And then he sees the book.

Lying no more than a foot away, just within reach. A weathered and battered thing, leather cracked and torn, pages tattered and ancient--but sitting perfectly placed atop the drifts, cradled in the snow. The elf scoots forward and reaches out. Trembling fingers tug it close, and he flips open the cover to reveal a stained page with glimmering golden script scrawled across it. He does not know the letters, but he traces them with his fingers. Soft, blueing lips part to try and produce _some_ semblance of recognizable sound.

Up, then down. Up, down, up again... down, and then a curved line back again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited for spelling, grammar, and syntax after it was published.


	2. Glimmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulrich Brighton has been working on something for several decades now, and he's quite eager to show off the fruits of his labors.
> 
> Tags Specific to this Chapter:  
> #Non-consensual Drug Use  
> #Sex Magic  
> #Racism/Slurs  
> #Rape/Non-consensual Sex  
> #Frottage  
> #Anal Fingering  
> #Anal Sex  
> #Mentioned Mpreg  
> #Underage Elements (Early Maturation)

Hendrick had known Ulrich Brighton for the better part of thirty years. 

The human noble was as well known for his research into the uses of magic as he was his lucrative slave trade, and the two had done business on more than one occasion in the past. However, it was rather rare to be invited to Brighton's estate, so he must have been _quite_ proud of his most recent accomplishment. _"I swear to you, friend, you've never seen something like this,"_ the aging human had bellowed, a gleam in his brown eyes. _"I've finally perfected it, Hendrick. After all this time... and I want you to see it."_

Of course, the slaver could never pass up an invitation like that. He was always impressed with the grand estate, looming elegantly over its well-kept courtyard. The smell of luxurious spices wafted through the nighttime air even as Hendrick slowed his steed on approach. Brighton stood on the marble stairs, dressed in satiny robes and thick, colorful furs, adored with jewelry of all colors. An elven servant stood on either side of him, tall and slender, with perfectly olive skin and cascading platinum hair. They were dressed in translucent silks, the form of their fine bodies and shapely breasts clear, and they came wordlessly to greet the slaver and take his horse. 

"Hendrick! Friend!" Brighton called, his wrinkled face splitting with a drunken grin. He threw out his arms in greeting, already well inebriated and the hair of his beard stained with wine, clearly delighted. Hendrick dismounted, and handed off his dear black horse to the two women, their blue eyes glimmering lazily as they cast vacant smiles in his direction. He could smell the cinnamon scent of Lovelace on them, spicy sweet, and he wondered briefly if the noble kept _all_ his slaves drugged. It wouldn't be the first time the slaver had seen such a thing, especially with a breed as notoriously wild as the sharp-ears. Lovely as they were, the last thing a man wanted was to have the teeth of an angry elf anywhere close to his family jewels.

"Brighton, long time no see." The slaver returned, throwing his strong, tanned arms around his small, hairy friend. Brighton patted his back happily, then pulled away to usher Hendrick into the lounge. It was an open area, just outside the arched stone doorway, the cool night breeze drifting into the space between tall, grooved columns that supported its ceiling. The floor was a bed of pillows and furs and throws. Stained purples and rich reds, dressed with golden tassels; whole hides of precious, rare beasts, bears and tigers and white stags. Several of Brighton's elven servants lay waiting in this space, all uniform in the length of their hair, the tone of their skin, the see through robes they wore. Male and female alike, all beautiful and almost _shimmering_ in the light of lanterns that decorated each wall. 

"Please, come. Have a seat, drink some wine. Loosen up a bit, hm?" The noble sang gleefully, and Hendrick obliged all to readily, shedding his worn sandals and his breastplate, sinking down into the welcoming softness of that little paradise. Warm, soft, olive hands reached for him, helping to ease him down, aiding him in tossing aside that heavy, dusty clothing. Others still moved quickly to pour him a drink into a golden chalice, and he took it with a sigh of contentment as Brighton stood grinning before him.

"Now then, Brighton," Hendrick hummed. "What is it you wanted to show to me?"

The human clasped his hands together with an eager smack, chuckling just a bit. "Ah, yes. Certainly you remember that I've been attempting to create a more resilient strain of these dear creatures." He gestured to the elves that lay near Hendrick, resting their arms over him, lavishing attention on his muscular form. Of course the slaver remembered. Brighton's elves were some of the most demanded property that could be had among nobles. Their temperament was perfect for a beast made to pleasure, and they matured far more quickly than even most humans. He knew that there was magic involved, boosting the rate at which those gorgeous sharp-ears aged, and that came with its consequences. Their lifespan was hardly even a third of a human's after the noble's careful breeding, and gestation was far too long for the demand. But those were not things Hendrick was normally concerned with. After all, his job was to transport them alive and collect on the invoice. Nothing more.

"Well," the noble continued. "I've finally found a solution to my previous problems, yes? I've bred a creature beyond my expectation, my crown jewel. Come, my dear. Come here."

He beckoned at the door, and Hendrick turned his head to watch as a new servant strode toward them. He was young, clearly the newest addition, with marked differences from his brothers and sisters. His ears were longer, tapered with more of a soft roundness than the others, his skin warmer and glittering in the light. His hair was a pure ivory, left to grow long and falling over his bare skin like waves of silk, and his eyes... oh, his eyes. They were the color of blood, bright and intense, gleaming with intellect. He was unlike the others, and carried himself in a way that showed clearly. Obedient, willing... but dangerously sharp. His ears were lined with loops of gold, rings at his dark nipples and even studs along his flaccid, small length. He smelled heavily of lavender and coconut as he passed, his skin shining with oil, and he came to a stop in front of the slaver, staring down at him with a half-lidded gaze.

"He's not like the others, Hendrick. He's gifted in magic, almost a prodigy. It runs in his blood, and I mean that literally. He's resilient beyond all reasonable expectations, and his wounds heal in moments. He understands, Hendrick, but he doesn't fight back. He's everything I could have hoped for."

The slaver raised a brow, incredulous. "I've never thought a smart slave a good thing, Brighton," he warned. "Be light with your praise. How did you do it? Don't the sharp-ears already have fae in their blood?" 

"They do, they do, but it is lost with the breeding. No, I used something special to create this. A spell, Hendrick, one lost to time-but enough of that. I can explain the little details later. Right now, I want you to try it yourself. Please."

As if on cue, the elf dropped to his knees, then to his hands, looking up at the slaver through milky strands of hair. Now, Hendrick could see strange markings trailing down the slave's cheeks, leading from his eyes like black makeup. It was strange, almost unnerving-magic was a powerful thing. But he could feel no malice on this creature, even without the spicy smell of Lovelace resting upon his skin. He hesitated, then nodded, slowly, and reached out to brush a rough thumb over the creature's pillowy soft lips. They parted easily, and Hendrick swallowed as he shifted to press two fingers into the elf's mouth. He accepted them without protest, mouth opening just a fraction wider as the pads of the slaver's fingertips pressed into the center of his wet, warm tongue. Hendrick shuddered at the heat, at the feel of those perfect teeth resting just atop his skin.

"...Does it have a name, Brighton?"

Pleased, the noble came closer. "Indeed. Andreas, if you wish to call him so."

"...I see. And what about Andreas is so drastically different from its kin?"

Brighton's eyes glinted with pride and mischief. "I thought you'd never ask, Hendrick. Allow me to show you." His hand reach out to rest on the small of the elf's back, the other in the center of his chest, and he coaxed the creature to sit back on his knees. Slowly, the noble's plump palm ran down over his belly, and stopped just below the navel. "His physiology is quite different from the others, you see. Not only does he heal, not only is he more resilient and quite relaxed, but he can also bear children. Likely of any species, though I've not tried yet. His body can be forced to its absolute limits, and then some-and still return to its former shape. His body is wired to treat pain as pleasure, too... he's _made_ to breed." A gentle pat, and Andreas shifted again, turning his back to Hendrick. Brighton lowered him back down to the floor, the elf's arms limp at his sides, cheek against the furs underneath them and rear raised for the perfect view. His ass was round and well shaped, fit like the whole of his body, and Brighton pressed his fingers between those olive globes to part them an expose his entrance. He was leaking fluid, already prepared from the likes of it, what Hendrick assumed to be oil dripping between his thighs as his legs spread apart obediently.

Brighton pressed three fat, ringed fingers to the elf's puckered hole, and pushed against the ring of muscle almost carefully. Hendrick was shocked at how easily they sank in, Andreas's body sucking them in willingly down to the knuckle. A quiet, strained noise issued from the elf, and he trembled, pierced cock twitching between his legs.

"It must have seen some use..." Hendrick murmured, but Brighton laughed heartily. 

"On the contrary, he's still unsullied. This is the way his body was made, my friend. He's a womb, and slick to prepare him to be mated. I wanted you to get to be the first to try him. To break him in."

The slaver simply watched in shock as Brighton's fingers sank deeper in, all the way to his hand. He spread them inside, gaping that straining hole just a fraction, and Andreas offered a sob of pleasure that went straight to Hendrick's groin.

Who was he to refuse?

He handed off his cup of wine, getting to his knees and shifting to scoot forward as the noble pulled away. Each golden ring seemed to catch on the elf's rim, tugging taut just for a moment before popping free, covered in viscous liquid. Finally, Brighton's fingers slid away, and the elf's entrance twitched shut behind them, his cock now hard and glistening with precum as it collected at his slit. The noble moved aside, slinking back to watch the show, and Hendrick reached out to press his large hands against the slave's wide hips. He was much smaller than the others, more fragile. He must have only just hit maturity, his body just now primed to serve in the way it had been made to. And oh gods, how Hendrick wanted to _use_ it now. He tugged the creature toward him, reveling in the way the light gleamed as it passed over the elf's aching back... his dick was certainly at attention now, straining against fabric. He reached to free it, tugging his clothing down, and his length sprung forward, striking Andreas's rear with a satisfying _slap_. The elf's ears twitched, his body jerking just faintly. 

Hendrick was not a small man, and normally he would have at least paused to prepare the merchandise lest he harm them. But after what Brighton showed him... He hitched his hips forward, rubbing his member between those hot, smooth globes of ass, the underside of his cock sliding over Andreas's hole. It twitched and puckered hungrily, the slick there trailing over every inch, _dripping_ from him... it made the slaver shudder, his mouth watering in anticipation. He pulled back, lining up the top of his cock with that greedy entrance...

He pushed in all at once, a low growl of pressure pushing up through his throat at the way the elf's body just... gave. He slid deep, that muscle stretching wide around his girth, Andreas's body clenching down on him with a tightness he didn't expect. The slave's passages were hot, painfully hot, wet and slick from his fluids. Barely halfway hilted and he could feel where it narrowed, and he pushed into that opening with a grunt as the elf all but _cried out_ underneath him, body shuddering violently. That space tightened, as if wanting to lock Hendrick in place, but he only continued his measured assault, holding Andreas firmly to him. Finally, just as he bottomed out, he met resistance, tip pressing against muscle more resilient than before. But all was well; Andreas's rear rested flush against the dark hair of Hendrick's pelvis, speared on his length and spread wide open. The slaver took a moment to soak in the feeling, but only a moment. Then, he was pulling out, almost completely. Just as he was about to slide free of the elf's trembling body, he pushed in again, snapping his hips forward almost violently to sheathe entirely into that small body. Andreas let out a delicious wail, a sweat forming on his back, but he didn't attempt to move or pull away. He lay obediently in the same position, even as Hendrick pulled out again, then slammed into him with renewed vigor. The slaver kept this violent pace, groaning at the way the elf's body clenched in protest on every inward thrust, unsure of whether to keep him in or push him out. Already, Hendrick felt himself growing close, hearth thumping in his chest, blood roaring in his ears and body on fire. His grip tightened, thumbs digging into bone, and he pounded into the elf more erratically, his strokes not so long, his member buried deep inside of the sharp-ear. Gods, those velvety caverns split so easily for him, stretched so wide with so little coaxing, yet clung to him desperately, as if begging him to cum, sobs of bliss being choked out of that body beneath him as it rocked with his movements.

Then, with a snarl, Hendrick wrenched free of him, pulling out just as his vision was threatened with sparks of white and he came, painting the slave's glistening back.

His breaths came as heavy, labored gasps, and his stormy eyes were blown wide, dark curls sticking to the beads of sweat on his brow. He'd never reached completion so quickly before, and likely not so intensely, either. Andreas heaved for air under him, his entrance shuddering violently as it pulled tight, the furs beneath them wet.

"...Gods..." Hendrick breathed.

Brighton laughed, so loud and so sudden that the slaver realized he'd forgotten that the man was there.

"I told you, friend. That right there... that's what I call the glimmer."


End file.
